Lily (Song of the River)

by Aaron McCarver

  A knock at the door preceded Tamar’s entrance. “You are wanted in the parlor, Miss Lily.”

  Her fearful glance met Camellia’s. Was it Mr. Marvin after all?

  Camellia shook her head, her golden ringlets brushing her cheeks. “It’s not Mr. Marvin. His coach is not nearly as fine.”

  “I wonder who it can be.” Lily released her sisters’ hands and stood.

  Tamar frowned. “You have a spot on your collar.” She hurried over to Lily’s bureau. After a moment of searching, she pulled a length of black-dyed cotton from the top drawer with a satisfied sound. “Here’s a fresh one. Let’s get that one off.”

  Lily removed the offending collar. “I don’t know why you must make a fuss.”

  “You are my responsibility, Miss Lily. I’d never let you appear to guests looking less than your best.” Tamar smiled as she tweaked a lock of hair into place. “Your grandmother would have a fit if you showed up in her parlor looking like a ragamuffin.”

  Knowing it was useless to protest, Lily allowed Tamar to fluff the ribbon around her waist and fuss with her skirt. Finally Tamar stepped back and nodded. “Go on down, now, before your grandmother sends someone to find you.”

  A giggle threatened to escape. Lily swallowed it as her gaze once more met Camellia’s. “I’ll be back before long and tell you all about it.”

  Camellia shrugged as if she did not care, but Lily knew better. Both girls would be antsy until she returned.

  Lily descended the stairs, her heart tripping as she considered who might be awaiting her arrival. Although they had received many visitors since Grandfather’s death, most of them had been older. Perhaps this was another visitor of the same ilk. But why the summons to the parlor?

  She stood outside the door and took a deep breath. Pinning a smile on her shaky lips, Lily pushed open the door and stepped inside. The man who rose from the couch made her mouth drop open. It was Mr. Champney, Jean Luc Champney, the son of the man she’d bought the Hattie Belle from. Had he come to tell her family of her purchase? Or perhaps he was coming to tell her the sale was invalid.

  “Good morning, Miss Anderson.” He bowed over her hand.

  She sank into a curtsy, acting on instinct as her mind considered half a dozen reasons their guest might be here. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Mr. Champney.”

  His smile was as attractive as she remembered from the afternoon they had danced on the upper deck of the boat she now owned. “I am honored you remember me.”

  Lily took a seat on the sofa and nodded toward her grandmother.

  He sat down on the sofa, too, but on the far end as was proper. “The weather is so nice today. I hoped you might be interested in a leisurely drive this morning.”

  This was better than she’d imagined. He was interested in getting to know her better. Perhaps he was considering a courtship. Lily’s cheeks warmed at the idea of being alone with him. She glanced at her grandmother for permission and received an encouraging nod. “I would greatly enjoy that, Mr. Champney.” Perhaps he would be amenable to taking her to the river so she could tour the Hattie Belle. Her boat. The words thrilled her. Did he know she had purchased the boat?

  Grandmother sent Tamar for Lily’s cape before giving Mr. Champney strict instructions on their outing. She was to be returned home by the time lunch was served. He was to keep his carriage on the main roads, and they were to take Tamar with them for propriety’s sake.

  Once she and Tamar were ready, Mr. Champney helped Lily into the front seat of his fancy cabriolet. His footman assisted Tamar into the backseat located on the outside of the fancy carriage. As Mr. Champney climbed into the front seat and settled himself beside her, Lily hid a grin. Tamar was muttering under her breath about the dangers of traveling. Something about breakneck speed and her desire to use her own God-given limbs.

  Mr. Champney raised his riding whip to encourage the pair of horses, and they set off. “Do you have any place in particular you would like to go?”

  How nice of him to consider her wishes. Lily couldn’t help comparing the man beside her to the one her aunt and uncle were trying to foist on her. If they had chosen Mr. Champney, she would not have been forced to find her dire solution. Of course, she would also not be about to realize her dream of living on a riverboat like her mother. “I’d love to go to the water-front.”

  He nodded. “I suppose you want to visit your boat.”

  Lily could feel her cheeks heating. “Please don’t mention it to my family.”

  “They don’t know you purchased the Hattie Belle?”

  Lily shook her head. “I don’t want them to stop me. As soon as I make sure everything is ready, I plan to move my sisters and myself aboard. We’re going to live on the Hattie Belle.”

  His hands jerked on the reins, and his horses swerved. For a moment he had to concentrate on the horses, but as soon as he had them under control, he turned to stare at Lily. “You can’t live on a riverboat.”

  Lily stared at him. Wasn’t his family involved in shipping? “Why not? My parents did. My father was the captain of his own boat, and he and my mother often took trips together before th–the accident.”

  “That’s precisely why you should abandon this idea. It’s far too dangerous for a lady.”

  A wagon trundled toward them, its bed empty. Lily wondered what it had carried to the river. Cotton? Sugarcane? Corn? Or maybe some handmade goods? Whatever the cargo, it had likely been loaded onto a steamship destined for sale in some distant city. Her heartbeat accelerated. Maybe it was even now sitting on the Hattie Belle, waiting for her arrival before sailing off.

  “You can’t say anything to change my mind.” Lily looked away. “I’m going to make a home for myself and my sisters. A place where we can make our own choices and live our lives the way we wish.”

  Silence fell between them as they entered Natchez. The traffic was heavy, and Mr. Champney had to pay attention to their route. She could feel his disapproval like a wall between them, but it only made her more determined. No obstacle would stop her. Living on the Hattie Belle was a dream come true.

  “Very well, I’ll take you to your boat.” His voice held a note of something she could not name. Amusement or resignation? “I only hope you won’t be too disappointed.”

  He guided the carriage through town but did not take the road to Natchez Under-the-Hill.

  “Where are we going?” Lily could not keep the suspicion out of her voice.

  “To see your boat.”

  “But I thought—”

  “Miss Anderson, I have only your best interests at heart. I hope you will one day learn to trust me.”

  His tone made her feel guilty. Abashed, she watched the road silently. Soon they came to a bend, and she caught sight of the brown water of the Mississippi River. She caught her breath as a pair of white smokestacks appeared. She turned to Mr. Champney and had to fight the impulse to hug him.

  His dark gaze seemed to read her mind. His smile widened, giving it a wolfish quality she had not noticed before. Before she could react, a banging sound turned her attention back to the Hattie Belle. “What is that?”

  “I would imagine that is Blake Matthews.” He brought the carriage to a standstill and waited for his footman to come to the horses’ heads. “My father said he was making some alterations to the boat.”

  “Is he the captain?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Lily was beginning to lose her patience with Mr. Champney. What kind of game did he think this was? “Is he one of the crew?”

  “I suppose you could say that.” Mr. Champney climbed down and came around to help her disembark, his hand outstretched.

  Lily put her hand in his and leaned forward, trusting him to balance her weight until her feet could touch the ground. To her shock she found herself caught in his embrace. “What are you doing? Put me down!” She pushed at his chest to no avail.

  “Hold still, Miss Anderson. The ground here is quite muddy.” With several lon
g-legged strides he reached the boat and stepped aboard before setting her gently on her feet.

  Not sure if she should be angry or thankful, Lily straightened her bonnet and stepped back. “You might have warned me.” His teasing look brought a smile as Lily realized how silly her complaint was. “Thank you.” She glanced back toward his carriage.

  “Shall we begin our tour?”

  “Tamar is still in the carriage awaiting help.”

  The teasing look disappeared from his coal-black eyes. “You want me to assist a slave? She can make her own way to the boat.”

  The disdain on his face brought her up short. Tamar was more than a slave. She had mothered Lily and her two sisters from the time they first came to live with their grandparents. She had wiped away their grief-stricken tears and bandaged their scrapes. “Tamar may be a slave, but she’s part of my family. She is also my chaperone, and I refuse to take one more step until she is standing beside me.”

  His lips tightened, and he gave her the briefest of bows before returning to the carriage. He carried Tamar as though he held an armful of firewood. His attitude might not be uncommon in this part of the world, but he should have some consideration for Lily’s feelings.

  “Who’s out there?” The gruff voice sounded vaguely familiar to her.

  “It’s Jean Luc Champney. I’ve brought the new owner of the Hattie Belle.”

  She liked the sound of that. The new owner. Before she could fully savor the introduction, her thoughts were cut short.

  The man responded with a crude epithet.

  Who did he think he was to speak so before checking to see if a lady was present? Lily’s ears burned. “Please mind your tongue. I am not accustomed …” Her words trailed off as he stepped onto the deck above them. The man who had accused her of being the mother of a thief. The man who had already given her the rough side of his tongue, although he had refrained from curses that day. The man whose strong arms had encircled her and held her protectively close when it had seemed someone might be shooting at them. Hot blood flushed her neck and cheeks as she remembered the feel of his muscular chest cushioning her fall.

  “And I’m not used to idlers who interrupt my work with foolishness.” He stared down at them.

  Lily’s gaze made note of his leather shoes before traveling up the length of his dark trousers. They might have been black, but she couldn’t tell because of the liberal coating of dirt or dust. His shirt, which she supposed had once been white, was now a dingy yellow from the same dusty substance. Her gaze halted for a brief instant on the open collar of his shirt, as it allowed more of his chest to show than she was accustomed to seeing. Raising her eyes to meet his gaze, Lily was mesmerized by the blue fire in them, a fire that set free a host of butterflies in her stomach. She gulped in some air to quiet the tickling sensation and reached for Mr. Champney’s arm, her fingers gripping with the strength of an eagle’s talons. “I don’t know what work you could possibly have on my boat.”

  His jaw dropped. He disappeared inside, and she heard his heavy footsteps descending stairs before he reappeared, his broad shoulders filling the main entrance. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  Mr. Champney coughed, and she thought she saw him hide a smile.

  Letting go of her escort’s arm, Lily opened the strings of her reticule to pull forth her deed to the Hattie Belle, glad a last-minute impulse had made her bring it along. “I recently purchased this boat, and you are to vacate it immediately.” She waved the vellum sheet toward him for emphasis.

  He grabbed the deed and unfolded it.

  Lily didn’t see why he should be so interested in reading about her purchase, but she supposed it wouldn’t hurt for him to see the proof in black and white.

  “What kind of trickery is this?” The man ignored her and directed his question to Mr. Champney. “Or have you been gambling again?”

  Her breath caught as Mr. Champney’s face turned bright red. Was he about to demand satisfaction for the insolent words?

  The butterflies in her stomach turned into a hardened lump. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

  “He’s no ‘Sir.’ His name is Blake Matthews.” Mr. Champney’s voice had an edge she had not heard before. “He’s nothing but a gambler—a man who relies on Lady Luck to make his living.”

  The anger she had sensed in Mr. Matthews dissipated suddenly. He folded the deed and handed it to Lily. “Yes, I’m a gambler, and I depend on my wits to survive. I like to think of my lifestyle as being free of the strictures of modern society.” His gaze speared the man beside her. “It’s better than being the wastrel son of a conniving businessman.”

  Mr. Champney’s brows lowered once more. “Be very careful who you slander.”

  “What slander? Your father decided to bail out of our business deal by selling his interest to a naive young girl who ought to be home, batting her eyes for an adoring husband.”

  The air seemed to thicken. How dare this man—a gambler—patronize her! She drew herself up to her full height of five foot three. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, Mr. Blake Matthews, but I suppose it is an arrangement you had with Mr. Champney when he was the owner of the Hattie Belle. Since that is no longer the case, I would greatly appreciate it if you would gather your belongings and remove yourself from the boat.”

  “And if I don’t?” The look in his blue eyes reminded her of a stalking cat—predatory, dangerous.

  Lily lifted her chin. “Then I will call on the sheriff to remove you.”

  “That will be hard to do, my dear.” His lips curled into a triumphant smile. “You see, barely a week ago the upstanding young man next to you lost to me in a card game. And he gave me his deed to the Hattie Belle as payment.”

  “But I own—”

  “If you read your paper carefully, you’ll find you own a portion of the boat we’re standing on.”

  Lily unfolded the deed once more and saw the language he meant. “Controlling interest?” She skipped the legal wording that made no sense to her and found that she owned exactly 51 percent of the Hattie Belle. Her mind spun. She didn’t own the boat outright? After all the money she had spent, she had to share her boat with someone else? Tears sprang to her eyes as her dreams collapsed.

  She had been duped. Tricked by Jean Luc’s father. The sunlight dimmed, and the sounds of the river seemed far away. What was she going to do? What could she do? Beg her uncle for help straightening out this mess? Unthinkable. She would have to make the best of it. Hadn’t she planned to face down any obstacles to her plans? She would not give up at the first challenge.

  Her mind raced. She could still make this work. Surely a few trips delivering cargo would give her enough money to buy the rest of the boat. She nodded and lifted her gaze to meet the blue eyes of the man standing in front of her. Her partner. Her temporary partner. “As soon as I have sufficient money, I will buy you out.”

  His eyebrows rose. “You’re going to buy me out? I don’t think so. I have my own plans for the Hattie Belle.”

  “And that will be fine as long as they meet with my approval.”

  “Your approval? You’re only a girl.”

  That might be so, but Lily had been raised on a thriving plantation, and she had seen her grandfather handle myriad problems through the years. She drew on that experience for her reply. “Nevertheless, I am the one in charge.”

  Mr. Champney coughed. Was he amused? She didn’t have time to be affronted, so Lily ignored him, concentrating instead on Mr. Matthews. “I would like a tour of our boat.”

  His face looked as if chiseled from a block of stone. She could read disapproval in every line of his body.

  Part of Lily wanted to run back to Les Fleurs plantation. But that was her old life. Her new life was in front of her, if only she could summon the courage to embrace it. She would do this, for herself and for her sisters.

  Mr. Matthews apparently recognized her determination. He bowed and swept his hand toward
the inside of the boat. “Right this way.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Blake watched the little spitfire as he took her through the boat—their boat. Grudging admiration filled him for her spirit, but she needed to learn this was no place for a lady.

  Maybe explaining the physical labor involved would convince her to be a silent partner. Instead of being bought out, he could likely put together enough money in a month or less after opening his casino to pay her off and forget she existed.

  “We have constructed several tables for poker, and I am looking for a roulette wheel to purchase.” His chest expanded as he detailed his plans. The Hattie Belle was going to be gorgeous when he finished. “I’ll hang ruby-red curtains on the windows to keep the customers from realizing what time of day it is. That way we can run the games constantly. This boat will earn more money in a week than it could earn from six months of running cargo up and down the river.”

  “Delivering cargo will not strip wealth from people.” Her disapproving tone matched the look on her face.

  What had he expected? She was no doubt too puritanical to immediately agree. But if he could make her see the profits at stake, surely she would change her mind. “We’ll have food and libations available at all times. I already have an excellent chef who will take care of the meals.”

  Jensen stepped from the doorway of one of the staterooms, and Blake heard a soft sound from the spitfire. He expected to see an expression of horror on her face, but instead sympathy filled her large brown eyes. Her gaze met his, and he was instantly wrapped in her warmth. “This is Jensen Moreau, my steward and chef and handyman rolled into one.”

  Jensen seemed to be lost in a trance. He was looking at someone behind Blake, a silly expression on his weathered face. If Blake wasn’t mistaken, adoration filled every inch of Jensen’s face.